The Things That Voldemort Took - Draco's Story
by Cordelia McGonagall
Summary: This is the story "The Things That Voldemort Took" written from Draco's perspective. It would be sporting to read that one first. Draco and Marcus swear excessively. Hence the M. Sorry, JKR. At least I don't make money from this.


There was only one person who cared enough about Draco to ask the right questions and yet who was brave enough to want the answers, and that was Marcus Flint. They hadn't always been close; Marcus wasn't easily bought or bullied, but as Marcus pulled his hand from his mouth to examine the thumbnail he'd been chewing, it dawned on him that he was truly concerned about Draco Sodding Malfoy, the Boy Who Winged, as Graham Montague used to say.

It surprised Marcus that he cared so much for Draco, and it worried him that Draco needed his c _oncern_ , for he'd done well for himself without it before - surviving the War without a curse or a cell in Azkaban. Unlike many, he was alive.

 _Alive, and wealthy as fuck. And worrisome._

It had started with a job offer. Draco had disappeared after the Trials, and Marcus had forgotten about him in his own scramble for a life worth living. He'd focused instead on accepting his lot - a secure and dull career working with his father in the sale of vintage broom parts. So when the regal owl had frowned at him through the window of his bedroom, carrying an unsolicited offer from the Malfoy Corporation, Marcus had sent a prompt reply. In their meeting, a terse and quiet version of Draco Malfoy had argued that Marcus' intellect, leadership, and utter lack of a criminal record made him a unique candidate for a position in management, as long as he didn't have a problem working with Muggles, for they had the computer skills necessary to trade in the markets. And did he know about computers?

Marcus had been quite surprised at Draco's lack of scorn when he explained Muggle investments. And computers. Draco had also ignored Marcus' shock in Draco's understanding and embracing of it all.

Marcus had mused, _He really could have been a Ravenclaw_ , and then he'd seen a gleam in Draco's eyes that quickly wiped that thought away. Draco had retreated, Marcus now understood, not to the Manor to lick his wounds - but to study Muggles and their money. And he had shrewdly - and amazingly enough, legally - invested the Galleons he had left to make back everything his fool father had lost. And then some. He'd committed to donating money to Reconstruction; patching up the Malfoy name wasn't going to be cheap, though on parchment, he was doing quite well.

 **..o0O0o..**

Marcus slid into Draco's office to get papers signed before they went into what Draco called the "facts machine," the Muggle device that ate documents and sent them through wires. Draco was sitting at his desk. This made Marcus stop short, nearly tripping over the rug. Draco never sat, preferring to pace and talk, either to a Quick Quotes Quill or to himself, a flurry of memos flapping in the air around his head - his head that was now in his hands, bowed over a _Prophet._ Draco didn't look up.

Marcus cleared his throat. Nothing. "Draco?"

Draco jerked his head up and leapt to his feet, the _Prophet_ wafting to the floor, his eyes red and shining. "I need to have Constance move up my Healer appointment. Think I'm coming down with something. Does that require my signature?" Draco pinned the document to the desk to scrawl his name at the bottom.

Marcus frowned at the newsprint; the headline "Potter Successfully Completes Auror Training" explained the picture of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley being hugged by Hermione Granger.

 _You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort._

Marcus threw the freshly-signed document across the room and threw his hands up. "Bugger all - you didn't even read what you just signed! I should have drafted a full transfer of your assets." Draco stared at him, wide-eyed. Marcus sighed. "Tea or a pint, Draco?"

"Tea," Draco whispered.

 **..o0O0o..**

Marcus swirled the dregs of his cup, looking to see who would die next. He lifted them with a soft smile and showed them to Draco. "See, look. A **_Z_**. Someone should owl Blaise and tell him to get his affairs in order."

Draco forced a corner of his mouth up for a heartbeat.

"C'mon, Draco, it's not the end of the world." Draco rolled his eyes, and Marcus pulled a sheepish face. " I mean, we all knew in school. 'Cept Goyle and Pansy. Greg's just dangerously dumb. And Pansy was in denial about you, mate."

"Don't. Greg's okay, really. It's the other thing-"

Marcus nodded. " _That_ is...too bad. S'rough, mate. Have you, uh..." He swallowed and risked a quick look up from his cup. "...fancied him for a while?"

"If you breathe word of that part to anyone-"

Marcus smiled. "I am sure my father's little company would immediately evaporate."

Draco huffed humorlessly into his cup. "Yes. And yes. I am well and truly fucked."

"It's pretty bloody ridiculous." Marcus looked at Draco and started to laugh, and Draco was so caught off guard by this that he laughed, too, making Marcus laugh harder, his loud, low chuckle ramping to a high giggle that set Draco off to laughter mingling with tears he'd held back for hours. A group of elderly witches switched tables in disgust.

"Merlin. Bugger me." Draco wiped his eyes and flashed an obscene gesture at Marcus, who had waggled his eyebrows as he was struggling to catch his breath.

Marcus summoned a breath and refilled their cups with the charmed teapot between them. "What are you going to do?"

"Mope. Make sure I don't sign over my business to you. Give you a raise."

Marcus grinned and then thought for a moment. "Did you know Justin Finch-Fletchley is-"

"Yes," Draco waved him off. "And I assure you, you don't want to know how I know."

"Correct." Marcus pulled a face. "Here is what we are going to do. We are going to focus on work. We've built interest with the Muggles; let's work on rebuilding your name here next. And then you can start fighting off wizards with marriage proposals." Draco rolled his eyes again, but Marcus pushed on. "Just promise me you will be careful, okay? Take care of yourself." Marcus wondered if Draco could have possibly picked a more thorny stick to beat himself with, especially for a bloke who wasn't used to wanting things he couldn't have.

 **..o0O0o..**

Draco had resisted taking Muggle transport for months, but his love of efficiency won out; he was able to get through a fair amount of work on his laptop undisturbed during the commute. The sheer number of non-magic people gave him a pleasing anonymity; no one would block his path to demand that he listen to what horrors he had helped to unfold. The Healer had given him assignments too, and he had planned to complete them, even though he had to force himself not to think about what his father would have said about it all. The apologies alone would have had him apoplectic.

But perhaps, seeing as he was dying slowly in Azkaban, his father's opinions were not the ones to hold dear.

He'd spent the train ride writing, as he'd been assigned, about the man who had always made residence in his thoughts, though it was clearer to him now exactly why that was. He worked his way through slights, jealousy, and anger, and he held up the longing that remained after he'd unwrapped all the layers. He was holding this close before he let it break his heart. Then maybe, like Marcus had said, he could move on.

He slipped the small notebook and Muggle mechanical pencil - _really a remarkable bit of portable engineering -_ into the breast pocket of his suit and smoothed his jacket down. He was self-aware enough without a Healer to know it was ridiculous how quickly he'd thrown himself into the Muggle world, and how much he was enjoying some of its trappings - this suit being just one of them. It was expert tailoring, and he smiled to himself as he saw a fellow traveler rake his eyes over him in line as he waited to pay for a paper. He wasn't interested in _dating_ a Muggle, but perhaps...

He shook back his jacket to check the time and nodded to the woman at the till as he dropped exact change in her hand. His head bowed, and his mind wandered, without his permission, to a moment in the shower this morning. He lost himself in the daydream when he slammed into another commuter.

 _Bugger!_ He instinctively moved his hand to his wand pocket and kept it there as he looked up into green eyes and wire-rimmed glasses shadowed by a hood and a cap. The eyes had just been in his thoughts a moment before, and their apparation before him now sent a thrill of horror through him until his brain engaged and sent him reassurance that his furtive daydreams could not be projected to the occupants of Kings Cross station. He gulped a breath of air to compose himself. _Occlumency, Malfoy. You are better at it than he is._

He stared at Harry for a moment to give him time to control his shaking. "Nostalgic for the Express, Potter?" Harry didn't walk into him by accident, he was sure. Another wave of panic flowed over him. _And why did he have to look so disarmingly handsome? And calm. Why today, in a soft jumper and blue jeans?_ Draco forced himself to not look weakly at the ground again, and then he immediately regretted the decision to meet Harry's thoughtful eyes.

"Something like that, Malfoy." Draco caught a quick flash of a bronze badge, an _**A**_ within a Ministry crest. He felt cold. _I chose this. All of it._ "Care to explain why a wizard like yourself has decided to use the Underground? I believe all your rights and privileges were restored after the Trials."

The words hung in the air. Draco thought of his scar and Harry's, and how they were both given by the same man, and how different their owners were. If only Harry knew how different - he would surely hex him into oblivion. He pursed his lips and squinted at a Muggle family wrestling with a large trunk topped with a caged owl before he chanced a painful look at the Auror. Perhaps Harry was better at Legilimency than the Dark Lord had thought.

"A wizard like myself." His face twisted into a smile that hurt. "I commute to my office by train to give me time to work on my laptop, which doesn't work well at the Manor. Am I being detained for questioning, Potter?" Marcus would cringe at the publicity, but Draco almost wished for an excuse to feel anything different for Harry to replace what he felt for him now. He quite regretted the exposure of the raw feelings sitting openly in the breast pocket of his suit.

Harry looked back at him for a long moment, a moment that took every drop of Draco's scant courage to hold, a moment that reminded them both what Harry could do - and what Draco could not.

"Nope. Free to be on your way, Malfoy." Harry's body radiated a self-assured calm, and he cocked his head up and gave a weary smile that made Draco's heart betray him with a rush of pleasure. Draco scowled and moved past him. His hands could barely hold his briefcase.

 **..o0O0o..**

"I'm not going." Draco argued. His voice was unconvincing.

"You had better not be. Why do you keep looking at it, then?" Marcus slid the Prophet - folded to show Hermione Granger's face - across the desk. Draco scowled.

"I thought that it could be an marketing opportunity to be seen supporting reform." Draco offered, lamely.

Marcus rolled his eyes. "I think your money is speaking enough for you at the moment. You don't need to torture yourself."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

Marcus scoffed. "You bloody well do. Do you want to go out with Daphne and me for a curry? She has a cousin-"

"Stop trying to set me up."

"Stop pouting for what you can't have, Draco!"

"I've been thinking we are getting too informal here. You may address me as Mr. Malloy in future." Draco sighed, but his tired eyes twinkled with a light that had recently returned.

"Oh, fuck off, Mr. Malfoy." Marcus jerked his head up and grinned. "Promise me you won't get pissed and show up there."

"I'll promise you one of those things."

"Well, don't go at it too hard, mate. You are an embarrassing lightweight."

"Swear it by Salazar."

 **..o0O0o..**

The weather was warm enough to melt the recent snowfall into a thick slush, but the bracing chill he had welcomed in the apparition crept under his wool jumper and corduroy trousers; he felt foolish for not wearing a cloak or warm robes in his haste to leave the Manor.

He'd kept his promise, and his nerves were fuled only by a milky cup of Earl Grey. He'd hastily formed a plan; the bag of gold in one hand, a cold bottle, its size and dust belying its exhorbinant value, clenched in the other. He let a giddy laugh bubble from his throat when he imagined his father presenting such a gift to the girl he offered up to his mad sister-in-law for torture. Draco's stomach lurched.

He slid in, unnoticed, and made his way to the bar. Hermione spoke from a podium at the far end of the room, a sizable crowd between them listening and nodding.

"Hello, Tom, I-"

"You!" Tom's eyes widened in instant recognition. "You slimy git! Out of my-"

Draco pulled out the heavy bag of gold and slid it across the bar. "I'm not staying. This is for you. I would appreciate it if you would use," he sighed, "some of it to buy everyone here a round from me. And this," he slid the bottle to meet the bag of gold, "is for Potter and that bushy-haired one in charge." They both cast their eyes toward Hermione, whose curls were escaping their chignon and tucking in on themselves in the warmth of the pub.

"I know my shield charms, Malfoy," Tom muttered, as he stared at the bag, counting the Galleons through the cloth.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and held up his hands. "Of course, Tom. I'd expect no less. Excuse me." He backed away before turning to leave. Hermione had concluded her remarks to loud applause. Draco moved unnoticed toward the door as she thanked the audience.

"...my friend has, at long last, graciously accepted my repeated requests to publicly share his thoughts supporting transparency in Ministry activities. Now that he is an employee, he is able to put his ideas into action. May I present Auror Harry Potter." Draco's progress toward the door faltered as the applause swelled. He could hear Marcus chiding him. _What are you doing here? Go home!_ He put his head down and took three steps before the low, easy voice of Harry Potter plucked at him and held him in place.

"Thank you, everyone. It has truly been an honor to serve you as a new Auror, on behalf of the Ministry of Magic, and service should be at the heart of what each Ministry employee does, for you, every day. Just a few short years ago - too short if you hear some of my Auror trainers tell it," here he paused to grin sheepishly as the audience, already in love, chuckled affectionately, "I was sitting in front of Delores Umbridge as her pen cut this scar in my hand." He casually held up his hand, rubbing a finger over the scar. " _I must not tell lies._ And I keep it to remind me of its truth, and how easily, out of misplaced fear and hateful propaganda, we can do great harm. I keep this scar for me, and for you. But it is the responsibility of each of us to seek the truth..."

Draco could feel a blade cutting a groove in him; he knew he should go, but he indulged in pretending that the thin, earnest face, so openly and honestly addressing the crowd, only wanted his ear. Almost as if his wishes had been heard, Harry's last remarks were delivered straight to him, Harry's eyes widening as he recognized the face in the crowd. The spell rooting him was released, and Draco followed the frantic need to leave - to belatedly listen to Marcus. He could hear, through the waves of well-wishers, desperate for a moment with their savior, that he was being followed. He made it into the December night in with a stumble, not looking back until he was summoned.

"Wait up, Malfoy!" Harry called. Draco bit his lip hard for foolishly thinking, for one moment, that his voice sounded pleading.

He stood, poised to fight or flee, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. He couldn't think - there was no room for thinking. He just had to go. This was more than he could bear, Potter chasing after him, for all the wrong reasons. "Well done, Potter! The world is safe in your Chosen hands."

The spin of the apparition turned his churning gut over, and he staggered to his bathroom to vomit. More than his stomach felt empty and hollow, but with the lightness came a clarity. He couldn't do this anymore, this longing. He didn't claw his way through a War to kill himself now. He chose to add living to working, and he ate curries with Marcus and Daphne, and had bland dates with her cousin, and hiked through Wiltshire. There were moments where he enjoyed himself.

In May, when the days grew long enough to fly after work, Draco decided to join a recreational Quidditch league. He made the selection of a new broom a present to himself, and he had the pleasure, for once, for paying for something with gold he had earned. He was waiting, Galleons in hand, at Sprintwitches' broom servicing counter when Harry Potter ducked through the low archway before him. Draco had done well trying to rid Harry from his thoughts, but the sight of him sent the panic rushing back, and Draco was halfway through the spin of disapparation before he grabbed the counter, remembering the broom purchase trapping him in place. His face flooded with humiliated heat. He cautioned a look at Harry, wondering if this was a coincidence, or if he was being followed by the Auror yet again.

He didn't expect to see the small smile. The old ache in Draco's chest began creeping back.

"New broom?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Draco said, cautiously. "Marcus Flint got me to join a league. Said I was turning practically Muggle." He sniffed a humorous laugh and summoned a remnant of his old bravado. "They always need Seekers, he said." Here he managed a smirk. "They age out when their eyes get bad."

Harry adjusted his spectacles, acknowledging the harmless jab. "I'm joining one as well, with Angelina Johnson. She's seeing George. He won't play anymore, and she misses it."

At this, the pain spread from Draco's chest and ripped across his face. He felt the blood drain from his flushed cheeks. _Of course. It would always be this. His War. Harry's War. Paths chosen to different ends. And George._ He'd privately admired the Weasley twins, their business acumen, their popularity earned. He recovered to see Harry looking at him oddly. They held each other's gaze, and then Harry nodded and looked away for a quiet moment. Draco seized at this chance to memorize him; he looked far more solid than he had when Hagrid carried him back to Hogwarts. The button-down shirt and jeans he wore today hugged his body; Draco stared hard as if he could sketch the muscled form underneath with study. He stared with such an obvious hunger that Harry's eyebrows raised when he caught him at it.

Draco started and recovered. "Are you here to drop off your broom?" he asked with what he hoped was a vague civility.

"Thinking about a new one, actually." Harry offered. "Not sure what's best out now."

Draco grinned, thankful for the years of practice sparring with the man in front of him which helped him to speak now. "That's easy. The one I just bought." At this, the clerk returned with his broom that was so beautiful that it brought a spontaneous smile to both of their faces. Harry's eyes wandered to a display of Snitches; he pulled a box from the shelf, and the ache in Draco's chest again pushed him to be reckless, blurting a question before he had a chance to think. "Want to try it out before you buy anything? Perhaps I can persuade you to not make a fool of yourself in the league. Save you some heartache."

Harry grinned and pulled off his glasses to polish them with his shirttail. Draco was overwhelmed by the intimacy of seeing Harry smiling fuzzily without the barrier of lenses; he quickly looked away and confronted a sliver of stomach from Harry's lifted shirt. He blinked in frustration.

Without his spectacles, Harry appeared oblivious to the torture in front of him, though he blinked in polite surprise at the offer. "Unfortunately we know I tend to seek that sort of thing out, heartache." Before Draco could dissect this, Harry continued, "I have plans with Neville and Hannah for dinner. I'd be up for a fly first, though."

Draco's ears were ringing, and he feared he had heard correctly - Harry accepted his overture. Draco wasn't sure what he'd just offered, exactly, but he had neither the time nor the courage to think about it. He nodded and swallowed as he signed for the receipt and Harry paid for the Snitch.

Draco had spent so many months constructing different scenarios in which he could find himself alone with Harry Potter that he struggled to be both mindful of his present situation and casual in his affect, though there was nothing nonchalant about Draco Malfoy now. It took massive restraint to remember where he was and not retreat further into a daydream, pulling Harry into his arms and kissing his familiar mouth that he would never, in reality, touch.

They reached the wide valley, safe from Muggle eyes, and Harry hurled the Snitch into the air with an unnecessary force before chasing it. Draco did not hesitate to follow, and the two lost themselves for an hour seeking the Snitch as they had done at school. It was different now, a shared love of the sport and of winning the only fuel they needed to drive them, though Draco caught himself showing off more than once and conceding a catch when he could have beaten Harry to it.

They landed for a break. Draco felt soothed by the wind and the game. It took away the last of his defenses. "I suppose I offered to let you try my broom, didn't I?"

"You did, before I took four catches to your two. I'd like a turn on it though, thanks." Harry replied.

Draco bit back a challenge to the score and saw the glimmer of golden wings in Harry's words. He forced a snort. "Turns? There will be no turns, Potter. I've seen how you can destroy a broom by yourself," Draco pursed his lips in silent prayer.

"Harry. Just Harry, please, Draco. Though I thought I did okay in the Fiendfyre. But maybe you are right. For once. Probably shouldn't be on your broom alone. Not safe." Harry took all the air in the world with him as he exhaled these staccato words. For the first time, Draco wondered - and couldn't explain away - what Harry was playing at, being here, with him.

 _Fiendfyre. God._ Draco was haunted by it all, the curse and his savior. "Yes. You did more than okay. You saved Greg and me, you and Ron. I'll never forget." Draco said this at barely a whisper.

Harry nodded. "I know," he said, as though he were reassuring a small child having a bad dream.

 _Maybe I am dreaming._ "Shall we, Harry?" Draco sighed and rolled up his sleeves, revealing a shiny pink scar where his Mark would have been.

"Your Mark," Harry nodded at his arm. "It looks like it's..."

"Gone, yes. Left me a reminder, but yes. Voldemort took it with him." Draco acknowledged, grimly. He stopped rolling his sleeve, and rolled something over in his mind instead. He'd stopped reading the _Prophet_ after the night at The Leaky Cauldron, but he remembered each Potter revelation after the War. "Was it true - the Horcruxes? Did he take...what he'd left...in...in you?"

Harry bit his lip and nodded. "Yes, no more Parseltongue. No more angry visions. No more...girls."

 _What? Surely not._ "No more _girls_?"

"Yes." Harry huffed a laugh which Draco didn't share. "Apparently, creepy old Tom Riddle was the only thing keeping me straight at school."

Draco could see Harry blinking at him in confusion. The fury was too much to contain. He hadn't realized it was possible to hate Voldemort more than he already had.

"No Hermione, then. Ginny?" Draco spat. He wanted to scream.

Harry's face reddened.

 _Oh, Harry._

"Well, I do love them both, but never to the first, and um, not any more to the second."

 _He doesn't know. He knows. It wouldn't matter anyway. Fucking Riddle!_ "Right. Well, then. You steer." Draco handed him his broom. Everything had changed, and nothing would change. He could have him now, and he never could have him. _Well, I have this. Right now._

Harry climbed on, and the broom dipped slightly as Draco sat behind him. In the Room of Hidden Things, Draco was too terrified to think about his arms around the boy he'd loathed and fancied in turns. Now, he forced Voldemort from his mind and savored his arms pressed against lean muscle, the spicy waft of aftershave.

As before, flying relaxed them both; Harry tested the climb and the turning of the broom in long, looping passes far above the wards of the Hogwarts grounds. This was indeed a superior broom, and Harry flew it to its advantage, spiraling it higher, circling above the top of the Astronomy tower. Draco was pleased by the handling of it, but he found his mind drifting increasingly to the man in front of him, the one he'd never hold after this. He'd barely regained his breath in the thin air above Hogwarts when Harry took it from him again, tipping the handle into a dizzying dive. Draco tried to steady himself, but the angle was too steep, and he slammed into Harry's back, nearly sending them both flying off the front of the broom. He was at once savoring the feel of Harry pressed to him and hoping that he wouldn't do something to make Harry pull away. Instantly, Draco and Harry moved in tandem, correcting the descent by banking left, Draco's pull on Harry's middle a mirror of the pull Harry was exerting on the handle of the broom.

The fluidity of their recovery thrilled Draco. He never would have expected it.

Harry grounded the broom carefully on a soft swath of thick grass, and as he tumbled off, he grabbed Draco with one hand and the broom with the other, to keep either of them from hitting the ground. He dropped the broom gently, but his hand still gripped Draco's, and before Draco could mumble an apology and drop it, he was jerked to Harry, whose blazing look was the last thing Draco registered before thought stopped. He wondered if he had fallen off the broom, if he would wake up to see Harry peering over his barely conscious body. The warm lips he finally registered pulled away, and their leaving jolted Draco out of his shock.

"Oh," mumbled Harry. "I'm sorry. I just. Um. Well. Sorry. Th-thank you for the spin. I'll um, go now..."

 _He sounds sorry. Why does he sound sorry? Where is he going? He can't go. Not now._ Draco blinked and saw that Harry was panicking. He had never seen Harry panic. He needed him to stop.

Harry's back was to him as Draco took a fortifying breath and slid a shaking hand on Harry's shoulder to turn him around. Harry's eyes were closed, his scar wrinkled as if he were expecting to be struck. _Oh, Harry. No. I'm so sorry, no._ Draco could feel the pain in his chest float away as he stepped to him, sliding a hand around his waist and one in his hair that he had wanted to touch for so long. Draco smiled hopefully as the wrinkle on Harry's forehead smoothed and his wet lips parted.

The gentle kiss Draco offered was an apology, and Harry took it, their kisses saying what they would say with words later. Draco could feel acceptance surging from Harry, and it was this, as much as the heat and the taste of him, that gave Draco the courage to sigh, "Harry, I am so sorry." The fierce kiss he received in return gave him hope that he could show him everything he meant.


End file.
